


the thing that will make them ring

by iphigenias



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Character, First Kiss, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renee holds up the sweater with a grin. “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Gene says with a sigh, running his hand through his hair and wishing for the sweet release of sleep. He’s just come off an eight-hour night shift only to be dragged unceremoniously from the house by Renee to shop for their Christmas party outfits. The theme this year is ugly Christmas sweaters, and Gene wouldn’t be so offended by that if not for the fact that Renee had told him, verbatim, that “all your sweaters are ugly already. This should be right up your alley.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the thing that will make them ring

**Author's Note:**

> i 100% blame this fic on danni and her cute af christmas layout on twitter
> 
> title from the song "it's beginning to look a lot like christmas" (i can't believe it either)
> 
> this fic is based upon the HBO portrayals of easy company, and no disrespect is intended towards the real men

" _It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas;_  
_Soon the bells will start,_  
_And the thing that will make them ring is the carol that you sing_  
_Right within your heart_."

 

***

 

Renee holds up the sweater with a grin. “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Gene says with a sigh, running his hand through his hair and wishing for the sweet release of sleep. He’s just come off an eight-hour night shift only to be dragged unceremoniously from the house by Renee to shop for their Christmas party outfits. The theme this year is ugly Christmas sweaters, and Gene wouldn’t be so offended by that if not for the fact that Renee had told him, verbatim, that “all your sweaters are ugly already. This should be right up your alley.”

It’s not like Gene buys ugly sweaters on purpose. It’s just, he doesn’t have a whole lot of money to burn, and because of that he’ll either buy all his clothes second-hand or knit them himself. And if Renee doesn’t like his handmade maroon sweater with the too-big sleeves and khaki elbow patches, then that’s her own fault. Gene likes it just fine. It’s soft and warm and that’s good enough for him.

These Christmas sweaters, however, are a whole other story. Renee is currently holding up a lurid green abomination with what Gene supposes is meant to be a reindeer but looks like a brown splotch embroidered on the front. White pom-poms have been stitched sporadically across the sweater in a poor imitation of snow. Gene feels ill just looking at it, though he supposes that may be the exhaustion talking. In her other hand, he realises belatedly, Renee is holding a pair of antlers sewn onto a glittery headband.

“No,” he says firmly, taking a step away from the offending item. “Nuh-uh. No way.”

“It completes the look,” Renee replies, sounding gleeful, and practically throws the sweater and headband at him. Gene catches them on instinct. “Well go on! Try them on!”

With a defeated sigh (because Gene knows that he’ll never say no to Renee, not really), he heads into the change room and strips off his own stripy sweater (also handmade, with pockets!). The Christmas one is pretty comfy, he admits to himself reluctantly as he tugs it on. He stares at the antlers in his hand for a frustrated moment before jamming them onto his head at an angle.

When he opens the curtain and steps outside, Renee has a laughing fit. “Yeah, yeah, take your time, I’m in no hurry,” he says flatly, hands on hips. This just send her into more gales of laughter. Gene straightens the antlers huffily.

“ _Pardon, pardon_ ,” she says, still laughing, before calming down enough to stand and look Gene over with a critical eye. “It’ll do,” she says decisively. Gene rolls his eyes before heading back into the changing room to get into his own clothes again. He emerges and looks at Renee.

“So I guess this means I get to pick yours out, hm?”

Renee smiles. “I’m not that stupid, Gene. I’ve had mine picked out for ages.”

“You sure?” he asks, reaching towards one of the racks. “‘Cause we could totally match.” The sweater he’s holding is exactly the same as his own only red instead of green, and comes with its own set of antlers, too. Renee shudders.

“ _Non, merci,_ ” she says, and Gene rolls his eyes again.

“Throw me to the wolves, why don’t cha?” Renee just smiles at him beatifically and pays for the sweater, waving aside Gene’s protests. She’s always done this, as long as he’s known her. Her family is old money, and she has no qualms spending it on her friends—Gene still isn’t used to her buying things for him, not after all these years, and he doesn’t think he ever will be.

He takes the shopping bag from the cashier with a forced smile and follows Renee out of the store. “ _Now_ can we go home?” he asks, and Renee grins, leading them to her car.

 

***

 

“Hurry up, Eugene, we’re going to be late!” Renee’s voice floats through the house and finds Gene in the bathroom. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes at the mirror. “One minute, wouldja?” He makes sure his binder is secure before pulling his Christmas sweater over his head. Gene makes a face. He looks _horrific._ The antlers stare at him from the countertop, almost accusingly. He sighs and shoves them on, thinking that if he’s gonna embarrass himself, he may as well go all out.

“Coming!” he yells, tucking a couple of loose strands of hair behind his ears before heading out of the bathroom. Renee is waiting for him by the door, dressed in a white fluffy sweater that has coloured pom-poms like Christmas lights stitched across the front, back and sleeves in neat rows. It actually doesn’t look half-bad on Renee—then again, everything looks good on Renee. She gives him a once-over.

“Keys? Wallet? Phone?” At his three nods she hitches her bag over her shoulder and grins. “Let’s go!”

The Christmas party is on the other side of town, in Lewis Nixon’s house. Well, house is a bit of an understatement. The first time Gene came here, three or four years ago as Renee’s plus-one for a birthday party, he’d almost keeled over in shock. It wasn’t that the place was super grand or anything—it was a well-kept wooden structure, two stories high with humble windows and furnishings. Gene got the feeling the modesty of the place was thanks to Dick’s influence on his fiancée—which clearly did _not_ extend to the gardens, where the old money Nix came from really showed its colours.

Tonight, as they drive through the wrought-iron gate (yes, really) and park along the ring driveway, Gene marvels at the fairy lights strung through the trees and hedges surrounding the property. He can hear the gurgle of the fountains round the back of the house, and he and Renee follow the sound, knowing that’s where the party is always held, no matter how cold the night.

Snow crunches under their feet as they reach the crowd and are immediately greeted by a chorus of voices shouting out variations of their names—Gene even hears a few “Docs!” scattered throughout, despite his continual correction every year that _I’m a nurse, not a doctor!_ A hand slaps against his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts, and he turns to find Lew Nixon himself.

“Glad you could make it,” he says with a grin, patting Gene on the back and steering him towards a clustered group of guests. “Dick was afraid you’d have a shift. He knows how busy you guys get at this time of year.”

“I’m on call,” Gene admits, gratefully accepting a glass of champagne Nix plucks from a nearby table. “But only if there’s an emergency, I think I’ll be fine for tonight.”

Nix nods distractedly and shoves Gene into the crowd he’d been aiming for. “Mingle!” he says with raised eyebrows, and Gene suppresses a sigh. He’d first been introduced to Nix through Renee, who knew his then-boyfriend and now-fiancée, but the guy had really taken a liking to Gene and gotten to know him pretty quickly over numerous random visits to the ER, where he’d learned, amongst other things, about Gene’s propensity to be alone, and his difficulty in making friends. Ever since then, Nix—and by extension, Dick—had made it his mission to remedy that. Gene finds his dedication touching, but also slightly annoying. He’s a goddamned _adult_ , he can handle himself.

Even so, he turns to the group and gives them a friendly smile, because he may as well do as he’s told, and there’s enough familiar faces here to make him at ease.

“Doc!” Bill Guarnere says with a grin, drawing him into a rough one-armed hug. Gene rolls his eyes.

“How many times I gotta tell ya, Bill, I ain’t no doctor,” he says, but Bill just laughs.

“You know the boys?” he says, gesturing at the group. “Joe, Julian, Johnny—Christ that’s a lotta J’s—Buck, Ralph and Bull.” Gene nods—Julian’s the only unfamiliar face here. He shares a grin with Ralph Spina, an EMT whose shifts sometimes cross over with Gene’s. “If ya don’t already know ‘im, boys, this is Doc Roe.”

“Not actually a doctor,” Gene clarifies, sharing greetings with everyone.

“Then why the nickname?” the new kid, Julian, asks. His bright eyes and pale skin remind Gene strikingly of Babe Heffron, another one of Bill’s friends. Gene wonders why he isn’t here.

“I’m a nurse,” he explains. “Gonorrhoea here’s too dumb to tell the difference.” He ducks the good-natured sideswipe by Bill and sips at his champagne, the alcohol warming him up from the inside out. “So,” he begins casually, “is, uh, Edward comin’ again tonight?”

“Who, Babe?” Gene nods. “Yeah, he’ll be here. Has the closing shift at the shop, shouldn’t be too long.” He gives Gene a knowing look, which Gene pretends to ignore. Bill just smirks, whispers something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “ _kids_ ”, and takes another swig of his beer.

After a few minutes of casual conversation, Renee drags him away to talk to her friends, among which number Faye Tanner, Frances Peca, Shifty Powers and Floyd Talbert. He greets them all and quickly falls into an enthusiastic discussion with Shifty about the merits of lambswool over merino. Renee just gives them a fond smile and falls into her own conversation with Tab and the girls.

Gene’s so distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice when Babe arrives at the party. Only when Renee gives an undignified half-snort, half-giggle does he look up from his conversation. “What?” he asks, turning in the direction Renee’s facing. “What’s so—?”

Gene turns abruptly around again, face bright red and burning. “Shut up,” he hisses at Renee, who only laughs harder and louder, drawing looks from the other groups gathered at the Christmas party. “I swear to God, Renee, if you don’ I’ll—”

“Gene?” comes a familiar voice, and Gene accepts his fate. With a final poisonous look at Renee he turns around once more and comes face to face with Babe Heffron—Babe who just happens to be wearing the matching sweater to Gene’s, bright red to his green. Even their antlers are the same. Babe grins. His nose is red in the cold, the same colour as his jumper and his hair. “Nice outfit.”

“Could say the same for you, Edward,” Gene smiles, Renee forgotten. Babe’s always had this kind of power over him—this ability to make Gene immediately calm, tranquil, while at the same time speed his heart up to what is undoubtedly an unhealthy rate. Gene would know. He’s a nurse.

“How many times I gotta tell ya to stop calling me that?” Babe says, but he’s smiling still, and Gene takes an almost unconscious step closer to him. Around them, everyone’s gone back to their previous conversations—except, unbeknownst to either of them, Renee and Bill, who exchange exasperated looks over the heads of their two best friends.

“Don’ rightly know,” Gene replies, sitting down on a nearby bench and making room for Babe to follow. He does. Gene’s heart nearly beats right out of his chest. Babe knocks their shoulders together and just smiles.

When Gene was young, having come out to his family early on as a boy, he’d never really thought about the possibility of being gay. The thing is, he’d never thought about anyone in that way—the way his friends at school talked about it, especially in senior year, with lewd comments and analogies that made Gene red in the face. The older he got, the stranger it seemed—surely he should be thinking those same thoughts by college? Surely every teenager wanted that kind of experience with someone they cared about?

It was Renee who he’d first told about this, who he’d first told about the reason why he always wore a shirt, even on the hottest days of the year, and how he thought he was broken because he’d never had sex, never wanted sex, didn’t think he ever would want it. And it was Renee who’d told him what asexuality meant, that it meant that he wasn’t broken, and she’d gathered him in her arms like that baby bird he’d found as a child, and cradled him until his tears stopped coming.

Life was easy, after that. Relatively speaking. Gene got shit for the fact that he was trans and he got shit for the fact that he was ace, but he never let any of it bother him. He knit his own too-big sweaters while he saved up for top surgery and found his calling in the life of a nurse. Everything was simple, and easy, and good—until he met Babe.

The guy came into the ER with a cut to his head that was bleeding buckets, held steady on his feet by Bill Guarnere who’d recognised Gene straight away and given him a shout. Lucky for them, the ER was slow that night, and Babe didn’t have to wait long before being admitted. Gene had handled his discharge afterwards, and the blinding smile from a red-haired boy from Philly had made him question everything.

It was Renee who got him sorted, in the end. She told him that asexuals can still want romance, that he could be homoromantic or biromantic or something else entirely. Gene joked that he thought he was Babe-romantic. Renee rolled her eyes and hugged him quickly, before pulling back and complaining about his swamp of a sweater.

Of course, Gene hasn’t told Babe any of this. They’ve only met a handful of times—at the ER, at these Christmas parties, and once at a bar on Bill’s invitation that was one of the best nights of Gene’s life, though he’d be the first to deny it. Babe is a good guy, has a heart of gold and a smile to match and Gene hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him for years. But Gene’s all the things Babe isn’t—complicated, difficult, and a trial to be around (Renee has said so, numerous times). So as much as Gene wants this, wants _Babe_ , he forces himself to dismiss the possibility. That’s why he calls him Edward—to distance himself from the situation. So far, it’s failed miserably.

Gene doesn’t think he’ll ever be free of this feeling.

“You okay?” Babe asks, breaking the silence, and Gene glances over to find him already staring. He nods and ducks his head in answer.

“Sorry, I’m kind of—jumpy.” He gives a shrug and looks back up at Babe, who is still staring at him with shining eyes, like Gene is something, special, something precious. “Still tired from my last shift, and I’m on call again tonight, so—”

“Nah, don’t apologise, it’s all good.” Babe smiles and there it is again: Gene’s heart stops. He’s saved from having to say anything in response when Babe clears his throat and stares at the ground. “So, uh, I know you’re pretty busy,” he says, and Gene can’t help but feel hopeful at the words. “And I get if you don’t want to—if you can’t—but, um, I was wondering if—if maybe you wanted to grab coffee sometime?” He says the last half sentence in a rush, still staring at the ground, and Gene wants to laugh, but he thinks that would be cruel.

“I’d love to,” he says honestly, looking down at his hands, “But—I dunno if it’s the best idea.”

Babe looks up at him then, brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“I mean—you’re— _you_ ,” Gene says lamely, lost for words. He gestures at Babe’s person. “You’re funny and kind and gorgeous and kind of perfect and I’m—”

“Perfect,” Babe breathes out, grabbing Gene’s hands with his own and holding them tight. Gene forgets how to breathe. “I don’t care that you have this—what, this stupid guilt complex or whatever—but I want this with you, I want _you_ , and please believe me when I say that nothing you could possibly tell me about yourself is going to change my mind.”

Gene looks at their hands, pale as the snow beneath them with palms red with cold. He looks up at Babe, who’s looking right back at him, and Gene would count the freckles on Babe’s cheeks if he didn’t think it’d distract him from Babe’s eyes. “Promise?” he says, voice throaty and rough, filled with every doubt he’s ever had about himself, accumulated over the years like so many knick-knacks hoarded in an attic.

“Promise,” Babe says, and gently removes both his and Gene’s antlers before leaning in softly, gently, giving room for Gene to pull away—but he doesn’t. Neither of them do. And, for a while, until the noise of the party reaches them once more, it’s just the two of them on a bench in the snow, hands clasped and lips touching, red and green Christmas sweaters shining in the night.

 

***

 

A year later, Babe’s still keeping his promise. Gene loses count of the days left, and starts thinking of the days to come.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not trans myself, though i have friends who are. i tried not to misrepresent anything in this fic, and i hope i haven't offended anyone by writing gene in this way. it's just personally how i headcanon him. as i'm ace myself i was far more comfortable writing about that aspect of gene, so that's why the main focus is on his asexuality. pls tell me if this bothers anyone !!


End file.
